


Do It Again, Just Better This Time

by Immicolia



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's
Genre: I just want them both to be happy and alive, M/M, Past Life Memories, Synchro Dimension AU, although it's still me writing it so they're not as happy as they should be, but at the very least Pearson didn't die in a fire, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 00:16:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15327549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immicolia/pseuds/Immicolia
Summary: The first time Bolger sees Pearson he's out slumming in the underground and something about the way the man smiles leaves him with the strangest sense of déjà vu.The first time Pearson meets Bolger he's reminded of the smell of smoke, and it's not from the cigarette he just lit.





	Do It Again, Just Better This Time

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about doing a Synchro Dimension fic involving Pearson and Bolger actually getting to be happy (and Pearson not dying in a fire) since... well, probably since it was revealed that there were actual 5Ds characters in the Synchro Dimension. And then my horrible brain went "hey, what if they had vague memories of the original, pre-dimensional split, timeline" because I enjoy things being a terrible disaster.
> 
> (also, oops, my completely headcanoned first name for Bolger wound up in here again because he kinda needed one)

The first time Bolger sees Robert Pearson he's out slumming in the underground.

It's a common thing for the young elite from Tops to head down into the gutter to watch desperate duelists all but tear each other apart in illegal matches and Bolger is no different on that front. He was seventeen the first time he snuck out at night (and tried to convince Rick to come with him) just to see what it was like.

There had been a raid that night, and although he'd been in no real danger (the proprietors of the underground are always oh so _careful_ to make sure the attendees from Tops are safe) the illusion of risk alone had been enough to keep him coming back. Not every night, but maybe once every few months.

But eventually that got boring, and Bolger has always been a thrill-seeker. At twenty he doesn't sit in the stands anymore. Doesn't keep his face carefully masked and isn't among the first to be carefully ushered out whenever Security decides to raid. He likes to walk around in the pits and chat with the duelists, ready to run if need be and the whole experience makes him feel so damn alive it's intoxicating.

And _that_ is where he meets Pearson.

Robert Pearson is scruffy and exhausted looking and laughing with a few other members of the pit crew the first time Bolger sees him. A cigarette idly clutched between two fingers and an easy smile tracing his lips and as Bolger walks past he can make out a conversation about one of the newer duelists and how damn _fussy_ the kid was about his bike.

(Something in Bolger's chest lurches a little at that first glance, like he somehow _knows_ that smile and has had it aimed in his direction before. A bizarre sensation of déjà vu he can't quite shake.)

Bolger doesn't talk to him that day, although he does find out his name. It only takes a minimal bit of asking around and the overwhelming opinion is that Pearson is the best mechanic anyone has ever seen. Too good to be wasting his time in Commons at all, let alone in underground dueling rings, but every time someone from Tops tries to recruit him he turns them down flat.

"You're shitting me," Bolger says when he hears that. "Nobody would _willingly_ stay down here if given the option."

"He does," is the response and Bolger simply shakes his head in disbelief.

It's another two weeks before Bolger can get away to the underground again. His father is pushing for him to be more responsible ("You're an adult now, James. I may have been able to give you that job but you still have to prove that you deserve it.") and Bolger has no problems with putting up the illusion that he's listening. It's still a whole two weeks, though. Two weeks that leave Bolger wondering if the next time he pops down Pearson will be gone before he even has a chance to speak with him. Between the raids and the standard shakeups that come with high stakes dueling things change fast, and two weeks in the underground is practically forever.

This time when he prowls the edges of the pits he manages to spot Pearson sitting alone. Once again grabbing a quick smoke, safely away from the D-wheels and the gas and oil around them, and Bolger strolls up with a easy smile and an unlit cigarette of his own and says, "Hey, don't suppose you got a light?"

Not that Bolger needs one. He has both a fancy Zippo engraved with his initials and a cheap disposable lighter tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket. One for when he needs to be polished and poised, heir to one of the City's top D-wheel manufacturers, and one for when he's trying to blend in with the rest of the scruffy punks in the underground.

But the careful etiquette that exists between smokers has always made for an excellent ice-breaker, so he's not surprised when Pearson nods and fishes a battered lighter out of his front pocket and flicks the flame to life. Bolger leans in close to light his cigarette. Close enough that he can see that part of the shadow along Pearson's jaw isn't just stubble, but a smudge of oil.

(Bolger's stomach flips again, that same strange familiar feeling that leaves his breath caught in the back of his throat. He knows this. He's done this before and he wants so badly to reach out and wipe that smudge away because that is what he's always done.)

"Have we met?" Pearson asks when Bolger leans back. "You look familiar."

"Not properly, no," Bolger replies, shaking away that clinging sense of déjà vu and leaning against a nearby support pillar. "I've seen you around though so maybe you've seen me."

Pearson is quiet for a moment, clearly thinking, before he nods in realization, his eyes narrowing. "You're that punk from Tops who's always talking to the duelists down here."

"Guilty," Bolger replies, forcing a laugh into his tone. He had hoped he wouldn't be found out quite so soon, but it's not all that surprising. People talk, and he's told enough people 'you're too good to be down here, maybe I could help' that it shouldn't be surprising his reputation precedes him.

"The answer's no," Pearson says before Bolger has a chance to say anything else and Bolger chuckles again, this time to mask the sudden spike of annoyance at being dismissed so quickly.

"Little arrogant, don't you think? I didn't even ask you anything."

"Spare me. I've heard enough about you." The smile Pearson flashes is tight and cold and he casts his cigarette aside as he gets to his feet. "James Bolger, heir to a D-wheel manufacturing fortune. I hear you like to offer sponsorship deals that always fall through. People still buy it though, that's what it's like to be desperate. Not that you'd know."

A hot flush rushes its way across Bolger's face and he's not quite sure if it's anger or embarrassment. Maybe a little bit of both compounded by that awful déjà vu flip in his stomach again as he snaps, "I'm not going out of my way to trick people. It just--"

"Happens by accident?" Pearson cuts him off before he has a chance to finish. "It doesn't matter. I'm not interested in whatever line you're about to sell me. Now, if you don't mind, I got work to do."

Without waiting for a response Pearson heads into one of the nearby garages and for a moment Bolger considers tossing his own smoke aside and heading after him before deciding that's a bad idea.

Robert Pearson has clearly made up his mind about him, so Bolger will let it lie.

For now, at least.

 

* * *

 

Pearson has always been content with living day to day. He has his work and he has the few kids he watches out for and that is all he has ever needed. Maybe he's not quite happy, some days are too hard for that, but he's comfortable and that's the best anyone can ask for in Commons.

The day Bolger walks up to him and asks for a light Pearson's heart does the oddest little skip-stutter in his chest. Like he's a teenager again and this is love (or pure infatuation) at first sight. Although under further examination the emotion isn't quite that simple. It's part awareness and attraction and part a strange sort of familiarity, like he's seen Bolger somewhere before.

(There's something else there too. Something dark and painful that leaves him breathless and smelling smoke -- not cigarette smoke, the acrid dark smoke that comes from oil catching fire -- that he doesn't want to think about too closely.)

All he can do is ask, "Have we met?" because he feels like it's true and the other man looks shaken for a moment before he steadies himself and explains how they must have seen each other around.

And that must be it, because the more Pearson thinks about it the more he realizes that yes, he has. He's talking to that little snot from Tops who likes to string people along. That realization enough to make him shut down and go cold because he's not interested in whatever it is that Bolger is selling.

He closes himself up in the nearest garage and waits until he hears Bolger move away, his mind churning over that strange sense that he knows Bolger from more than just seeing him roaming around in the pit area.

It's another two days before they run into each other again and Pearson hopes it's a coincidence. He doesn't like the idea of being hounded by some pushy asshole who probably has more "fuck you" money to throw around than Pearson has ever seen in his life.

As if he can tell that Pearson is on edge, Bolger immediately puts up his hands in a placating gesture. "Look, despite what you think, I'm not interested in recruiting you, okay? I just heard you were the best down here and I'm curious about your work. I deal with engines too, although it's mostly experimental tuning and optimization."

"Really?" Pearson frowns, not quite believing him. "Given you're the heir I'd figure you'd be put behind a desk, getting groomed to take over the company someday."

"I technically am. Being groomed to take over, that is. But my father wants me to be aware of how everything works together so...." He shrugs. "I started low. Now, c'mon. I wanna know if you're as good as everyone says you are."

Pearson wants to say no. The word is right there on the tip of his tongue and it's absolutely what he _should_ say. Bolger is clearly up to something, likely out to earn his trust before he springs the "no really, I could totally get you out of here" on him, and it's better to cut that off immediately.

But then Bolger smirks at him, daring and obnoxious all at once, and Pearson's heart skips in his chest again. Unable to stop himself from saying, "Fine, but one word about how I could 'totally get out of Commons' and I'm kicking your ass."

For all that it matters; Bolger does behave himself that first day, and the second. It takes a good five meetings, the two of them sitting with their heads tilted together over an engine block, before Bolger finally slips and says, "You really are too good for this place."

Pearson scowls and immediately Bolger waves his hand in an attempt to placate him. "I know, I know. You don't want to hear it. But that's not gonna stop it from being true."

"I don't want to talk about it," is all Pearson says, his eyes flicking back towards the engine in front of him and without another word the subject is dropped. For the moment, at least. Bolger still brings it up every so often, and every time Pearson shuts it down just as swiftly.

As much as the man annoys him there is something about Bolger that is hauntingly familiar beyond the fact that even on the days when they don't talk Pearson sees him lurking around the underground on a nearly nightly basis now. Something about the defiant tilt of his head and the way he holds his cigarette and how his caramel coloured eyes sparkle with annoyance when he says, "Why are you staying here? You're good enough to have better."

(And although he knows Bolger has never said it, not to him, there's still a very distinct memory in the back of his mind of Bolger yelling, "We deserve _better_ than this! Why are you throwing it all away?!" that gnaws at him and leaves his chest tight whenever it flickers in the back of his mind.)

It's a confusing mess, and sometimes Pearson is tempted to say "okay, fine" to whatever the hell it is that Bolger's offering if only because maybe then Bolger will stop poking at him. Whatever impossible deal there is on the table can fall through and he can say, "I knew you were a scumbag," and that will be the end of it.

Except Bolger isn't actually a scumbag. Not really. He's someone with a keen eye, who can recognize talent when he sees it, but isn't quite in a position to do anything about it yet no matter how much he may want to. Maybe someday he will be, but for now he's nothing more than a skinny twenty-year-old who is far too desperate to prove himself.

And damned if Pearson doesn't respect that drive.

 

* * *

 

The first time they kiss is at the same time as their first serious fight.

Pearson is in a bad mood, that much is obvious the moment he sets foot in the garage they usually work in, but Bolger figures he is in a worse one. Fresh off an argument with his father about just how much time he's spending out at night and, "I know you're sneaking off to the underground, James. Are you _trying_ to humiliate this family?"

He'd tried to explain. About the mechanic he'd met down there and how he's the best Bolger has ever seen. "If we could recruit him we wouldn't just be one of the top manufacturers, we'd be on the bleeding edge. I just need to convince him."

Not that his father had cared and Bolger is getting sick of all the careful tiptoeing around and trying to soften Pearson up. Even if he does enjoy the man's company, even if he is learning far more than he ever could have imagined under Pearson's guidance, even if he does kind of get why Pearson is at the very least content to work in the dizzying excitement of the underground, he's tired of it.

"How can you live like this?" he snaps almost the instant he steps inside and instead of answering Pearson simply shoots him a dark look that is quite plainly warning him not to go there. A warning that Bolger ignores. "I'm serious. How the hell are you happy when you _know_ you could have better."

"I'm not in the mood for this," Pearson replies, tossing the wrench he'd been holding onto a nearby table with a clatter as he turns to face Bolger.

"Yea? You know what _I'm_ not in the mood for? Constantly tiptoeing around you because God forbid I tell the truth and point out that you're too good to be in a shithole like this. Those experimental parts you throw together? You could make millions with the right buyer."

"Oh? And let me guess, _you're_ the right buyer."

"Well I could be if I could just convince my fucking father of it. Which is a little hard considering that I've got nothing to show for it after months down here. You're lucky I never flat out stole them from you."

The moment the words escape his lips Bolger's chest goes tight and Pearson visibly flinches. His expression frozen and furious all at once as he takes a few halting steps towards Bolger.

"So why didn't you? The Tops is just as cutthroat as the Commons, isn't it? Maybe even more."

"Because I respect you for whatever stupid fucking reason," Bolger snaps back, hating the way he instinctually falls back a step at Pearson's approach. "And...." Bolger's voice trails off into nothing, two thoughts fighting in the forefront of his mind.

(You're so familiar.)

( _This_ is so familiar.)

He can't say either of them.

"And what?" Pearson prompts, his voice low and harsh as he takes another step forward. "Come on. Throw on another layer of bullshit. Try and make me believe you respect me right after you talk about ripping me off."

"I don't even know why I do." A laugh slips free from Bolger's throat, the sound strained and almost manic. "You're so fucking stupid, happy to just sit here in the gutter with nothing to show for it. I could give you the chance of a lifetime and you just throw it in my face when if I wanted to I could _buy_ your sorry ass."

"No," Pearson snaps back, his tone cold as ice, "you couldn't. That's why you're so pissed off. You _hate_ that I won't do what you want me to because you're a spoiled little rich shit who's used to getting his own way." He has Bolger backed up against the wall, all but looming over him and Bolger wants to hit him. They're close enough together that he could probably headbutt Pearson in the goddamn nose right now if he wanted. It would hurt but it would be satisfying.

(He's hit him before. He doesn't know why he thinks that but he knows what it feels like to crack his fist against Pearson's jaw. And after that....)

Pearson's hand moves upwards and for a moment Bolger thinks that maybe he's going to swing first before it slams against the wall, next to his ear, and then Pearson is kissing him.

Hard.

Just like a punch in the mouth.

(He remembers this too.)

 

* * *

 

After the kiss Pearson doesn't see Bolger for a month.

He honestly thinks that maybe he'll never see him again and as much as he knows it's for the best he can't quite be happy about it.

(Even though the moment Bolger had uttered the words "I could have stolen them" he remembered a fight far more vicious and violent, which had ended....)

(How had it ended again? Badly is all he knows for sure.)

Eventually though, Bolger comes back. Not quite contrite as he says, "I can't stop thinking about you."

The only thing Pearson says is, "Pass me that wrench, will you," but that is enough. It's an invitation, an indication that Bolger is still welcome, because if he's being perfectly honest (and he may as well be honest with himself) he couldn't stop thinking about Bolger either.

Things are strange and stilted for the first little while. Bolger is very obviously saying as little as possible and Pearson is all too aware every time their hands brush against one another or every time their heads are titled a little too close.

(He remembers kissing him. Not just the one that actually happened but other times. Kisses that are far gentler and some that are desperate and some that are just lazy, sloppy, things. He remembers so many that....)

He kisses Bolger again one night.

It's probably stupid and will only make things worse but Bolger is chewing on his lower lip, lost in concentration as he goes over some diagnostics, and it's so damn tempting (so familiar) that he can't quite stop himself from leaning in and letting their lips brush.

Bolger jerks back like he's been scalded, his eyes wide and wary as he spits, "What the hell was that?" and despite himself Pearson smiles, although the expression is guarded and more than a little awkward.

"Don't tell me you don't think about it."

Bolger swallows, hard enough that Pearson can see the muscles in his throat working, and mumbles, "M- maybe," his eyes darting towards the open door of the garage. An unspoken warning that anyone could walk by, anyone could see them.

Without a word Pearson moves to close the shutter. The outside world soon enough closed away with the firm clang of metal striking concrete. Pearson still silent as he moves back to Bolger's side and leans down to brush another kiss against his lips.

And another. And another. Each a little more urgent than the last until Bolger's hands are fisted against his shirt.

"Do- do you ever get the feeling of déjà vu?" Bolger suddenly croaks out as he pulls away enough to suck some much needed air into his lungs. A question that makes Pearson pause, if only because he never expected to hear it spoken out loud.

A question that he can't help but answer honestly.

"With you? Way more than I'd like to admit."

"So, you feel it too? Like we've done this all before?" Pearson nods, the silent agreement enough to push Bolger to continue. "And... that maybe it didn't end well?"

(It didn't. He knows it didn't. But he can't bring himself to say it.)

"If it didn't, we'll just do better this time."

Bolger frowns, like he doesn't quite believe it, and Pearson kisses him again.

It's better than admitting that he doesn't quite believe it either.


End file.
